


one good thing

by xivz



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Affection, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic, Domestic Bliss, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kissing, Love, M/M, Post-Canon, Remix, Romance, Slice of Life, Social Worker Simon Snow, True Love, Vague blowjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:06:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26393119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xivz/pseuds/xivz
Summary: Simon Snow has had the worst day he has ever had. (That’s a lie.) The truth is that he’s too close to his latest case and it’s hitting home. As a social worker (as the Chosen One), Simon has seen some jarring things, but sometimes it’s difficult to separate himself from his job at the end of the day.All he wants to do is go home and curl up in bed. Until he sees Baz, and Simon remembers that there are still good things in the world—his lover is one of them.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 18
Kudos: 150





	one good thing

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Today was awful, but then there was you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23532502) by [OtherWorldsIveLivedIn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtherWorldsIveLivedIn/pseuds/OtherWorldsIveLivedIn). 



> Big thank you to **[sconelover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconelover/pseuds/sconelover)** for being wonderful beta reader.
> 
> And thank you to **[Coolcoolcool_nodoubt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coolcoolcool_nodoubt/pseuds/Coolcoolcool_nodoubt)** for allowing me to remix their fic!

Today has been a clusterfuck, a mess, the worst day I’ve had yet. (That’s a lie—my job makes it so that every day has the potential to be bad. And I’ve been through much worse in my entire lifetime.) (Being the Chosen One wasn’t a cake walk.) The truth is that I’m too close to the case, it hits home and it makes me want to tear my hair out. If I still had magic I’m sure I’d have gone off a million times over already. 

The case was just another bastard manipulating a powerless child. Sometimes I can deal with the physical abuse cases, other times it’s like now. The boy I removed from the home was probably ten, with strawberry blond hair and freckles. He carried a red marble with him, rolled it in his hands the entire ride to his new foster home. His father had a thin mustache which gave me terrible flashbacks. It’s been over a decade and I still have moments where I just can’t deal with this shit. 

At least I’m off for the next three days and I’ve managed to catch up on most of my case files (which is typically unheard of!) before I left the office. Sometimes, I wonder if I went into the correct career. Sometimes, I wish I had been an engineer or a baker or something that isn’t so thankless and doesn’t deal with how ugly society can treat their most innocent. Something that isn’t as jarring or emotionally draining.

The tube ride home is crowded, but it distracts me from crying. I feel like I’m going to fall apart at any moment, and I hate it. I hate the lump that’s stuck in my throat as I think of that boy with his red toy and his grotty jeans and an oversized shirt. I know that I’m projecting, I’ve been in therapy long enough to recognize the signs, but I just can’t help it. 

It leaves me _tired._

Baz and I live on the sixth floor of our building, and the lift isn’t working. Which, _really?_ Just proves what type of shit day this has been. My anger fuels my energy up the stairs, and I unintentionally slam our front door closed behind me, wincing as I lock it. 

The smell of garlic permeates the air and it smells delicious. It reminds me that I haven’t eaten since breakfast this morning—too busy with everything to even think about food, but now I’m ravenous. Maybe some of my bad mood can be attributed to that. Maybe. 

Fuck, I forgot to pick up cheese from the market. That makes me feel like a failure because it’s the only thing Baz asked of me today. He asked me to pick up cheese to go with our pasta and mince. 

I yank on my curls as I kick my shoes off at the door. Leaving them messily besides Baz’s neatly placed boots. I drop my satchel on top of them and take in a deep breath. Hold in 3-2-1, and release 3-2-1, repeat. 

“Hey, love, dinner will be ready in about ten minutes,” Baz calls out from the kitchen. His voice is a soothing balm to my soul. It’s smoky and smooth and I just want to drown in it. 

My feet make their way to him without my brain having to tell them to. But, I think it’s always been that way. I just gravitate to him, it’s like he’s the center of my universe. (He is, but I’d never live it down if he _knew.)_

He’s at the stove, stirring our dinner and looking so damn casual in a pair of my joggers and a t-shirt that’s just on the right side of being too small. His hair is up in a sloppy bun and it’s such a good look on him. Everything about him right now is just so _good._

I slide my arms around his waist and breathe in his scent at the base of his neck, nuzzling at the skin there before landing a soft kiss at the knob at the top of his spine. He’s tall enough that my mouth rests on it perfectly.

“Alright, Snow?” he asks. I can feel the vibration of his words through my chest as I press closer to him, mindful of the hot stovetop. If I could melt into him, I would. If I could stay here like this forever, I would. 

When I don’t answer, he turns off the burner and turns in my arms so that he’s facing me. I peer up at him through my lashes and take in the stubble along his jawline and the wisps of black hair that frame his chiseled face. Instead of answering him (because words are so fucking hard when I feel this way), I burrow my face into his throat. Pulling him tighter to me and allowing my body warmth to seep into him.

“Okay.” He kisses my temple softly and rubs my back. 

I can feel the tension leaking out of my body the longer he does that. It’s nice. Touch and I have a complicated relationship, but with Baz it’s alright. It’s always been alright. I wish I could just fade into him. 

Instead, I take a sidestep away from the hot stove and pull him with me, pushing him against the countertop where he already has our bowls ready for serving. I kiss along his scratchy jaw and throat, wanting to show him exactly how much I love him. I want to show him how my shitty day can always improve because of him. When days are overwhelming like today, Baz is the light at the end of the tunnel. 

I kiss him on the mouth, tenderly, moving my chin the way he likes it and causing him to nearly melt into me. Our kiss is long and slow, but it doesn’t take away from my hunger. When we pull apart, I kiss his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his chin, and then lower. His breath hitches as I nip along his throat, my hands roaming underneath the hem of his shirt and along his back. I can feel Baz swallow, the bob of his Adam’s apple up against my mouth. It’s a delicious feeling. 

“Dinner’s ready,” Baz gasps as I bite down and suck on his collar, worrying the skin harshly. I want to leave a mark. I need to. He’s mine, mine, mine. He’s the best thing in the world.

My hand slips into his joggers to palm at him. 

“I’d rather have dessert first,” I say, feeling my face heat up in a blotchy blush as the words tumble out. I was never one for dirty talk, but for Baz, I try. 

“That was terrible.” Baz smiles. It’s a blinding thing; it sends warmth throughout my body from my heart. It’s a syrupy feeling that never quite leaves me afterward. I wish there was a way I could bottle it up and carry it with me for those times when I desperately need it. (I think I’m addicted to him—to Baz.)

“You like it,” I say before lowering myself to my knees before him.

“Crowley,” he whimpers. “This is unsanitary.” 

Yet Baz shifts his hips to help me lower his clothing. He smells of his posh soaps and lotions, but also like something musky and base. It’s a scent I’ll never tire of. I nuzzle at his groin to inhale deeply to smell it over everything else, my hand already pumping at Baz’s half-erect cock. I don’t bother to say anything back to him; it’s not the first time one of us has gotten off in our kitchen, and it probably won’t be the last. 

The taste of his skin is clean and soft. The sounds he makes are low, more of a rumble deep in his chest than an open moan. It’s lovely, it’s just what I needed. I let my hands roam over his deliciously thick thighs, flat stomach, and a thick patch of hair underneath his navel. He’s still fit—he’ll always be fit to me.

I’m not sure how long I’m on my knees before him. It feels like coming to worship. My jaw aches and there’s drool down my chin, but I don’t stop. Baz’s hands are in my hair, gently yanking as swear words pour out of him. It’s cleansing to me, to focus on him. On doing this for him. On being with him. Baz is good for me. 

His body is taut and his legs are trembling and he’s gripping my hair tight enough that it should be painful. I don’t stop, despite my jaw being on fire. I don’t stop because Baz is begging me to continue, trying to give me a warning. Trying to come closer with every bob of my head until he releases everything into my mouth. 

It’s salty and the texture isn’t to my liking, but I keep going until he’s a whining mess, trying to move away. I help him back into his pants and trousers before turning around to our sink and spitting, using the water to rinse my mouth out. 

“What was that?” Baz asks, his tone of voice languid and relaxed. He probably looks like a sleepy cat right now; it’s one of my favourite looks of his. (Any looks he does is my favourite.)

I rub my mouth dry with the hem of my shirt before turning back to face him. “A blowjob.”

“Git.” Baz’s smile is sweet and it makes me kiss him again. How could I not? He was practically asking for it. 

“I love you,” I say to him as I finally pull away. It’s not the first time I’ve said it; we tell each other often. His eyes are such a clear gray as they flick over to mine, and his face softens, and it takes all of my willpower not to lean over and kiss him again. I want to kiss him until our mouths are sore, until we can’t breathe anymore, until death do us part. 

“I love you too,” Baz says it almost shyly. He always says it that way. As if my loving him is too good to be true. The reality is that it’s the other way around—him being in love with me feels like a dream.

“Dinner?” I ask, my stomach rumbling at the perfect time. 

Baz rolls his eyes, but his expression is affectionate. "Go clean up while I serve you.”

I want to comment on a Pitch serving me. Instead, I kiss him again, a lingering one that’s full of promises, and then head further into the flat to shower and change. Today was awful, but Baz, _fuck_ , Baz just makes me feel _so good._

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi to me on **[tumblr](https://xivz.tumblr.com/)**!


End file.
